


What Remains

by completelyhopeless



Series: Persuaded Universe [3]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Comment Fic, Community: comment_fic, F/M, Flashbacks, fluff in the flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barbara packs the last of her things before leaving her family's house, finding an old letter and remembering better times, ones with the man she turned down and misses more than she dares admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Remains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/gifts).



> Okay, so it has always bothered me, much as I love the 1995 adaptation of _Persuasion,_ that even though it shows a letter that's apparently from Wentworth to Anne that she finds in a book, we never learn what it says. I always wondered what it might be. Then I was looking at prompts and saw one from a song I've always liked.
> 
> [any. any](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/596475.html?thread=83212539#t83212539)  
>  _What if this storm ends?_  
>  _And leaves us nothing_  
>  _Except a memory_  
>  _A distant echo_  
>  (Snow Patrol - The Lightning Strike)
> 
> And that led me to the idea I'd had of including a flashback of the time when Barbara and Dick were together before she ended the engagement, and I thought that the lyrics kind of fit where the story was now. I didn't dare attempt it until now that I am starting to feel better and my brain might actually function well enough to write something with historical elements.

* * *

Almost all of Barbara's things were packed away, some already sent on to Bath, the rest waiting for her to take with her to Uppercross. She leaned back against the trunk in the attic, closing her eyes and holding back the sting of tears in her eyes at the thought. Her chest burned with the pain, trying to keep in her reaction to Elaine's words.

_Sister Pamela needs you, and since no one will want you in Bath..._

No one wanted her in Bath. No one wanted Barbara anywhere, except her uncle. If she'd tried, maybe she would have been able to go to him, but she had not felt up to the argument, to the fight she should have won. She hadn't fought for what she should have years ago, and ever since then, every fight seemed to matter less and less.

She shook her head at her own foolishness and opened the trunk. She knew that she had to do it—Admiral Wayne and his wife would be here to take possession of the house tomorrow, and she had to get everything out of here. None of their private items should be left behind, and she knew her sister would not care, though she would blame Barbara if she found out that this trunk had not been dealt with, even if none of this was Elaine's.

She set the books aside. They could be returned to the library. She didn't know why they'd been moved—she'd assumed it was Elaine's doing, she didn't usually care for Barbara's reading habits or choices. Though maybe—oh. This one. Barbara knew exactly why this book had been hidden away.

She opened it up and sighed, closing her eyes and trying not to remember the words of the letter that had just fallen into her lap.

_Babs,_

_I know, I know. I shouldn't be so informal. I know I'm not supposed to use even your first name, that's what everyone keeps telling me. I keep trying, but it's not me. All of this society stuff is not like me. Selina tried to train me, and so did Bruce, but I fear I'm still that kid who grew up in the circus, and I always will be._

_Does that bother you? I know your sister doesn't think much of me. Every time I meet Elaine, she sneers down her nose at me, and I know I was wrong to make fun of her, but can she actually think that titles matter that much? I got to meet some titled people when we were with the circus, and I couldn't see how they were so much better than anyone._

__

_I shouldn't say that. It's just that I hate how people treat my friends—my family—because of where we grew up, because of what we did. What is so wrong about making people laugh? They were happy. And I saw so much of the world, things that no one else did._

__

_I sometimes think I should never have come to see Roy. I love him as I would a brother, and he is one, even if he is not of my own blood, but if I had not come to see him, I would not have had to learn so much about propriety and manners. I think good manners are something people should have, but propriety seems more like an excuse to be mean to people half the time._

_Then again, if I hadn't come to see Roy, I wouldn't know you, and that I think I'd regret more than anything, even if I think the loneliness and dreary weather in Bristol is worse because you're not here. I miss you more than I can or probably should say, especially in a letter. I've never known what's right to say in a letter and what isn't._

 _I used to think that I would never get to feel anything like flying again, not after we lost the circus, and then I found the navy. I didn't think anything could compare to what it used to be like, but then I swung across my first rigging and I knew I'd found a place I could call home again._

_It's probably stupid and uneducated of me, but you know that feeling? I get it when I'm with you. From the first time we spoke, when I was doing some tumbling in Roy's yard and you came with your sister for that charity thing—she was appalled at what I was doing but you smiled and that smile made me think civilization wasn't all bad. The more we talked, the first time I dared take your hand even with your gloves on—there was something about how I felt with you that—this will sound stupid—but it's like flying with you, too. It's like... home._

_I miss you. I can't wait until I get leave again and get back to your side. I love your letters, but they can't compare to your voice or your touch or even your smile. I'm counting the days, the hours, even the minutes until I can be with you again._

_Yours always,  
Richard _

* * *

Barbara put the letter back in the book, shaking her head at herself. She had the words memorized, had not forgotten one of them. Though her sister would have burned all of the letters and she'd been tempted to do the same, it wouldn't have mattered. In those early days, all she'd had were his letters, and she had missed him just as much as he'd missed her when he had been called back to Bristol. She'd looked every day for his letters, and she had written so many herself she flushed to think of them now.

She'd been so young, so hopeful and foolish, so in love...

She set the book down, shaking her head as she did. She needed to pack all of this, and now was not the time for pointless reminiscing. The light would fade, and she didn't dare waste candles on packing late into the night. She needed to finish this now, before the storm grew worse or it got later.

She wanted to be out of the house early, long before Admiral Wayne and his wife came. If she did not do it now, she would not be done when they came, and she did not want anyone to find her here, did not want anyone to find that letter.

* * *

_“I thought that storm would never end.”_

_“You're soaked. You're going to catch a cold.”_

_Richard laughed, shaking his head as he did, leaning back and looking up at the still cloudy sky. Then he caught her hand and pulled her close to him, leading her in a stumbling dance around the garden. “How could I catch cold with you here to warm me?”_

_“Richard!”_

_He smiled, not at all contrite. “Didn't you get my letters? How could I be cold when there is your smile and your love to warm me and lead me home?”_

_Barbara tried not to blush. Her sister would say he had no home. Even her dear uncle would say it. He had already raised some doubts as to the wisdom of her attachment, and she tried to be mindful of them, but Richard had a way of making her forget all of that. Being with him was like freedom._

_“I'm not your home. Don't be silly. A person can't be a home.”_

_“Of course they can,” Richard said, shaking his head. “You have always lived in this country, in that house. I have rarely stayed in one place for more than a few weeks at a time. I moved a lot with the circus and now in the navy. My family was always my home, not a place.”_

_“And... you see me as family?”_

_“I... I do. I mean, I would_ like _to,” he said, taking both her hands in his. “Babs—I mean Barbara—Miss Gordon—I'm sorry. I am terrible with formalities—I would have you be my family. My home. My... wife. If... If you'd let me. If you'd want me.”_

 _“Oh,” she whispered, and his smile faltered. She shook her head. “No, no, don't—I_ do _want to—I want to be with you. I've never known anything like being with you, either. I... I do want to be your wife.”_

_“You do?” He looked at her. “Are you sure? I don't have much money and I don't—I'm not educated like a suitor for a baronet's daughter should be—and I have mixed blood and—”_

_“None of that matters to me,” she said. “It doesn't. I love you. I want to marry you. That is all that matters.”_

* * *

She'd made a liar of herself, and she hated herself for it. She still did not care about his mixed blood or even his money. His education did not matter. All that had—all that did—was how she felt about him. She knew no one had made her feel like he had, and though she'd wanted them to, though she had been asked by others, no one had manage to take his place in her heart.

His sister would be here tomorrow, and like a coward, Barbara wanted to flee, wanted to run far from this place, her home, as far away as she could get from the memories and those he loved. His family was his home, and he would make his way to them.

She did not know that she could face him again. Once she'd had her family, their riches, their pride, a twisted form of nobility in doing what she thought was best for them, but now she had none of that. She had nothing.

Just memories and an unpleasant ache that either resided in her heart or her stomach.

“Miss Barbara? The rain has stopped.”

She looked at the window. Alfred was right, the rain _had_ stopped. The pane was almost dry. Her mind had wandered for longer than she'd realized. “Will you put those books back in the library? I... I will deal with this one myself.”

He nodded, though as he reached for the pile, she recognized the volume on the top as well. That one had belonged to Richard. He had lent it to her not long before the engagement ended, and she had not been able to return it. He'd left so hurt and angry, and she had caused him that pain. “And that one. I'll take it as well.”

“Of course, Miss.”

She forced a smile as she accepted the book. Almost a decade of her life gone, and what had she to show for it? An abandoned book and a few letters? Or was her true legacy the ache in her heart?

**Author's Note:**

> The line given to Barbara's sister is adapted from the movie. Almost stolen, I suppose.
> 
> The Elaine that is Barbara's sister here is [Lady Vic](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Vic), someone Barbara and Dick have both gone up against in the comics. I didn't want to vilify anyone, so I gave those roles to people who were already villains. Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy got one of the other roles, as did Katrina Armstrong, though they haven't really shown why they're "villains" yet. That will come, unfortunately (?) over the course of the story.
> 
> I also learned that the trapeze wasn't invented until after this story is set, but I'm going to ignore that fact because Dick doesn't seem like Dick without his upbringing on the trapeze.


End file.
